


Magic Isn't The Only Enchanting Thing Here

by Crumbles_Of_Reality (orphan_account)



Category: Merlin - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Camelot, Dean as Merlin and Castiel as Arthur, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel based off of Merlin, I Love You All, M/M, Merlin spinoff, based off the tv show Merlin, i worked my ass off on this, jk, you better like it u lil shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:50:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Crumbles_Of_Reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has led a hard life, providing for his younger brother Sam after his father left them. His mother died years before. Together they live on the outskirts of the lower town of Camelot. One day, while trudging to his grueling job at the bakery, Dean Winchester meets Prince Novak... the royal prat. </p><p>After bonding in friendship with Castiel, Dean goes on a hunting trip with the knights and Castiel. But things don't go to plan as bandits ambush them, and Dean gets struck fatally in the liver. </p><p>Is this enchanting beginning of love already over?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Isn't The Only Enchanting Thing Here

**Author's Note:**

> I DID NOT intend for this to be anything like Arthur and Merlin are, so don't compare it to them. This is just Castiel and Dean playing their rolls.. and *squeals* holy shit this is nearly longer than my 3 chapter plotty Destiel fic.. lol. 
> 
> <3 Please leave a Kudos if you liked it, they do no harm and it lets me know you appreciated my hard work! <3

“You look as if the clothes you wear are your house, as if the food you carry if the last you shall ever eat.” The prince sneered at him, and Dean felt himself go rigid. His sad, lost, hopeless green eyes gazed up at the prince who was laughing along with his knights. 

“Maybe I look the way I do because I am, because it is, because I have a younger brother to feed and no food of my own to eat, for he is a growing young man, and a kind one, more fit to be a king than the likes of you!” Dean snarled, and the prince turned from where he had been walking away. 

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” He glared at Dean. Before Dean could react, his face was in the dirt and blood was smeared on his cheek. The knights roared with laughter. He stood up shakily, and looked at the prince with hatred bright in his eyes, something new spurring him to live. 

“I said that you are not fit to be a king.” Dean stated, and the prince promptly swung at Dean again. He fell backwards, hitting his head, and the bread he had worked so hard to get slipped out of his hands. 

“No.. no!” He choked, spitting out blood from where he had landed and bitten his cheek. One of the knights kicked away the food, and they chuckled at the sight of him scrambling around disorientedly, searching half blindly for the food he needed to feed his brother. 

He picked up the pieces of mucky and ruined bread, and felt tears well up in his eyes. He turned to look at the prince, and noticed in horror that multiple other villagers had crowded around to see what was happening. 

“I do not take back what I said. But before you beat me, take these to my brother. He needs to eat, he is just a child, years younger than I, and should not have to bear my problems on his shoulders. He lives in the outskirts of the lower town.. just give it to him, please.” He spat out, falling in a heap on the ground, wheezing. He felt a tentative kick to his side, then a hard one. His ribcage burned, and combined with his hunger and previous ailments, he promptly fainted.

______________________________

Dean woke up in an unfamiliar bed, one too soft and comfortable for it to be the bed of weeds he slept on every night. A sullen thought crossed his mind, and he spoke it aloud, his eyes still closed tightly.

“Oh, god. I died, didn’t I. Damnit, now Sammy will have to fend for himself, I shouldn’t have left him like that..” He opened his eyes and saw the prince himself looking down at him with an amused expression on his face. Dean groaned.

“ _AND_ I’ve gone to hell? Good lord... “ He muttered, and squeezed his eyes shut once more. The presence above him moved away, probably offended, and Dean snorted.  
Which wasn’t a good idea, because it immediately sent sharp pains down his ribcage. He gasped, and the prince snorted at him this time. 

“You’re in my chambers, you know. You could show me some respect. And.. I got the food to your brother. He was lying outside though, by a fire. I assumed that was your garden?”

“That’s our house, numbskull.” Dean replied, feeling slightly grateful towards the prince for at least doing as he asked. He opened his eyes, now accustomed to the light pouring into the room in bright shafts of color through the windows. He attempted to sit up, but wheezed once, then collapsed back down onto the mattress, wincing. 

The prince, Castiel, Dean believed his name to be, had been silent for some time. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than his usual, overbearing tone.  
“Your _house_?”

“Yes, now get on with the teasing because I sure as hell am not doing it for you, _Sire_.” He used the word mockingly, seeing to it that if he was to be mocked, then he’d play at that game, too. But to his surprise, the prince stayed eerily silent. This was almost a punishment in itself, for he had no way to know what the pompous ass was thinking of. After a long two minutes of intolerable silence -that Dean _totally_ wasn’t counting-, Dean cleared his throat, which, he admitted pitifully, hurt.

“Right. I’m heading off, got to get to work by tomorrow, I need to get Sam’s bread.” He muttered the last part, not wanting the prince to really know what went on in his life. He sat up, this time prepared for the excruciating pain, and was nearly blinded by the white-hot sensation of someone ripping through his lungs and ribs and cracking his chest in half. He let out a most pitiful squeak, and looked to where the prince was standing, horrified to see that he had been watching him the whole time with his unruly hair and enchanting blue eyes. 

Dena slipped out of the covers of the bed -which were tucked rather neatly around his chin when he had woken up- and stood on his feet, nearly toppling over. Thankfully, he fell onto something tense.. and warm.. instead. Dean nearly screamed -a manly scream- when he realized who he was allowing to support his weight on. He staggered backwards, falling back onto the bed and hitting his head with a soft thud against the mattress. It didn’t hurt as if he had hit his head hard, but his brain rattled inside his skull. He pushed the now bashful prince away from him and stood up, wobbling on the balls of his feet. 

 

“I got this, I got this..” Dean muttered to himself under his breath. He took a step and reached for the bedstand, nearly falling as the world moved with him, and the door to leaving got one step closer to him. He walked step by step, to the door, then fumbled for the handle. He had thought he had been going slow, but the last couple of steps had turned into a more fall like appearance and he had banged against the door. Pushing the door open, he drunkenly stepped outside of the room. The guards were immediately alert, and they looked as if they were about to run him through. Prince Castiel stepped out of the room and nodded to both of them, then pulled Dean back into his chambers, closing his door. He yelled to the guards to fetch the head physician. Dean’s forehead felt hot, and he felt really bad, but he still weakly attempted to fight off Castiel, who was trying to wipe a cloth over his forehead. 

“No- stop! I gotta go see… Sammy… work so hard, y’know… he doesn’t know… he doesn’t know… one loaf of bread a day, that’s what he gives me… I give it to Sammy, Sammy likes it. Told him I ate b’for I came home… what a liar…” Dean chuckled to himself, and then passed out again. 

***  
It was painfully obvious to Castiel how scrawny the boy had seemed, but hearing him speak those delusional words made him feel sick to his stomach. With.. Dean’s (that was his name, he thought) back pressed against his knees, he could feel the bony ridges of his spine sticking into his leg, and when the physician went to bandage him up he had had to look away at the horrible sight of his gaunt ribcage and face. He already felt terrible, but it hurt more to know that there was basically nothing stopping the knight’s kicks from hitting straight to the bone. 

And he thought it was very sweet how caring the boy was about his brother… and very sad. Looking at his home and thinking that is what his garden was torture enough. How could he sleep? He almost raced back there to clean up whatever mess the knights had made. Had they tussled his bed? His bed of.. what could it possibly be? Rocks? Straw? Weeds? He shuddered at the thought of anyone sleeping there, let alone himself. 

Castiel could not fathom anything like this, for he was a prince, but at least to him, the boy did not seem lonely. Castiel knew what it was to be different and an outcast, and that was most likely the only hardship he would ever encounter… he had magic. 

His father had banned it long before his birth, for reasons unknown to him, and out of fear his talent had been hidden from his father. Sometimes, though, his powers got the best of him, and the one time he had been near a rather still pond, he had seen his eyes flash a bright, clear gold. When others used magic, their eyes flashed a duller, more grimey gold than his, to his befuddlement. He had gotten better at hiding his skills, but never took advantage of them if he was forced to use them. He was half tempted to see if he could heal Dean, but he knew the physician would be skeptical. He couldn’t do anything of the old religion, for his friends would be accused of sorcery. The king’s son? He wouldn’t be touched. 

He had found this out the hard way when he was little. Saving his best friend’s life after a rather fatal injury was not to be found out, so his father had the friend executed for the so called sorcery. He remembered being forced to watch her hanged, the drop of the platform.. the slight crack that he barely heard over the roar of the crowd… he shuddered. Those were not good times. Those who knew the girl was not to blame for the sorcery were sworn to secrecy, or were punishable of high treason and sent to death, and his father was the one who had sent out the order. Castiel prayed every day that his father had forgotten of his talents, and it seemed to be that way. 

He walked to the door leading out of his chambers, and glanced back at the boy. He didn’t want to leave him in case he woke up and tried to escape in his state, but he had duties as a knight to train from noon to dusk on a Wednesday. Reluctantly, he headed out, his boots shining in the evening light. 

***

Dean woke up at what he calculated to be around dusk. _Bloody hell…_ He thought to himself, praying that his younger brother wasn’t too worried about him, and that the situation had been explained. He sat up slowly, knowing the consequences of being abrupt, and slipped out of the bed silently. The small table in the room was adorned with food fit for a prince… Dean supposed that that was who it was for, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from it, nearly drooling at all the meats and fresh fruits. He grabbed a lengthy kerchief, and began stuffing it with the least perishable of foods on the table. After grabbing a second, he heard footsteps echoing towards the room speedily.

He glanced around in fear of being caught thefting, and ran to the divider where the prince must have usually changed. He realized then that he was wearing entirely different clothes than normal, ones that were not adorned with many stains and smelt like soured milk, but rather ones that were clean and soft and downy like the breast of a goose. 

The door swung open, and through the cracks of the divider Dean saw the prince himself enter the room. The prince walked around, staring for a few moments at the empty bed before swearing and tossing his helmet -which he had been carrying in the crook of his elbow- to the floor. Dean cringed and an orange came spilling out of the hastily packed second kerchief, dropping to the stone floors with a squishy thud and rolling past the divider. Dean held his breath as the prince approached, and then his eyes widened in fear as the prince began to look around the divider. Dean turned around and hobbled to the door through the other opening of the divider, praying he would make it out in time. 

Unfortunately, he was caught and held by strong arms before he had even crossed halfway through the room. Angered, he yelled in false pain, -and real pain too, his ribs were killing him- and the arms immediately loosened their grip. He managed to break into an uncomfortable run and burst through the doorway, forgetting about the second kerchief and bundling his first closer to his pained chest. He ran through the hallways and got quite lost, until he passed the King’s Courtroom and knew where to go from there. His legs ached, and he jogged a little until he finally reached the upper-town square. To his bitterness and surprise, the prince was already waiting there, a triumphant grin on his righteous face. 

“Let me past!” He coughed, doubling over as pain racked through his body. He felt the prince walk towards him more, but he straightened up and walked past him in a wide circle, avoiding him at all costs. 

“You know, I’m just trying to help!” The prince called out as he trudged past him, exasperatedly. Dean ignored him and went on his way. He didn’t care what his excuse may be, the prince was a rude, pompous prat who probably only wanted to make a fine example out of him. He painfully walked the rest of the way to his home, where his doting younger brother was waiting dutifully. 

“Dean! I was beginning to think you left me!” Sam said to him, and although Sam’s tone seemed joking, he sounded slightly fearful. 

“Never! I’d never leave you Sam!” Dean kissed the top of the younger boy’s forehead, hugging him tightly. He felt something soft and crumbly being pushed into his hands, and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw that the bread he had given to Sam was only half eaten. 

“Sam, this is for you..” he mumbled, only half persistent. Sam pushed it again into his hands, and then Dean remembered about the kerchief in his other hand, packed expertly with exotic foods. 

“Look what I got.. other than beat up, but I suppose you get treated when the royal ass beats you up.” Dean muttered, and spread the linen open. An assortment of fine cheeses and meats and fruits lay in it. Dean’s heart leapt in joy. 

 

“This’ll last us at least a week, Sammy!” He smiled, and Sam smiled at him. Finally, giving up on his hunger, he tore through the bread and one succulent orange. He savored every bite, his tongue loving the tanginess and sweetness. 

Sam watched him eating, obviously happy to see that his older brother was eating. Dean, on the other hand, didn’t notice this, and savored it all, his face pure bliss. His stomach felt fuller than it had in a very, very long time. He fell asleep content by the fire, his younger brother realizing for the first time how gaunt his cheeks were.

______________________________

Dean walked once more past the village to go to his day’s work, and although he didn’t really need to -due to all the rations he had… stolen..- he could not afford to lose his job. A man who was visibly a servant stumbled by, a shield equipped on his side. He was running, warily, and glancing behind him. Dean realized why only when a knife thudded against the large, wooden shield. The servant fell to the ground, and the knights jeered and grumbled at him to get up. Dean sighed in anger and exhaustion at their endless bullyings.

“Would you royal twats just give it a rest?” He spoke quietly, and helped the man to his feet. He put his foot on the shield before it rolled away, and began to walk when one of the knights boldly called out,  
“And what will you do about our jestings, ey? You are merely a peasant!” Dean whipped around, coming face to face with the same group he had seen yesterday. Castiel, the haughty prince, had a pleading expression on his face, as if saying, _Don’t do this, please, don’t.._ But Dean ignored it and the look was wiped away, replaced with one like the others. 

He glared at them, his eyes full of raw hatred, and he saw Castiel wince.. Was it a wince? Or him shaking with uncontrollable laughter? It was hard to tell with these prats. He still felt full from last night, so after offering Sam an apple he had set out for work. It seemed he wouldn’t be getting there without a hassle.

He mustered up all the courage he could and spoke out loudly,  
“Merely a peasant, yes, but still more chivalrous than the likes of you!” The knights snarled at him, and, like a pack of dogs, descended on him. The last thing he saw was the prince hanging back from him as the first punch hit him, and then his vision went black.

______________________________

“You really must stop getting in these fights, you know.” An elderly voice stated, and Dean shut his eyes tighter, his head pounding.

“I know, I looked at him and thought he understood…” There, the voice Dean hated. The prince Castiel was standing there, wavering back and forth, almost pacing. His frown lines were distinct on his features, and it wasn’t very attractive, especially for a crown prince. Not that he cared. He sat up and ignored the pain, immediately getting out of the bed to walk to the door, but his leg crumpled beneath him. 

“What the hell?!” He yelled, and glared at the prince, not a single doubt in his mind that he had had something to do with this. The prince visibly winced, and Dean only hardened his stare. 

“It appears to be broken..” The physician stated, and Dean choked. 

“Broken?” His voice cracked in the middle of his word, tears filling up every crevice of his eyes.  
“But.. but, I have to work! I have to work, to earn food for my brother, no no no!” He sobbed, and gazed at his broken leg in disgust, as if it was to blame. He nearly punched it, but the waves of pain already emanating off of it helped to convince him otherwise. Tears spilled from his eyes, and he sniffled, rubbing them so that the prince wouldn’t have something to make fun of him about. 

To his surprise, he felt firm arms gently pick him up and place him timidly on the bed, nudging his leg under the silken covers and tucking him in. He looked up to see the prince, who seemed to be in a great deal of conflict between his emotions. His eyes were rimmed red, as if he had been holding back his tears, and Dean almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He felt the physician slip something into his mouth and he swallowed, and soon he felt drowsy. His half lidded eyes looked at the prince, but this time not with disgust or hatred. Just with a look of mutual appreciation. As he was beginning to drift off, his eyes fully closed, he heard the husky voice of the man began singing quietly.  
__

You walk the walk of a weary man  
You smile the smile that you barely can  
You hope of dreams that never be true  
But darling make a wish and ill do it for you  
Love isnt a kiss but a kiss may mean love  
Hearts can not be given without help of the above  
Lives may not be taken for you are a worthy man  
Hopes can not be shaken but every brave man can… 

His voice echoed in the sparsely decorated chambers, even if he was speaking softly. It was melodic and deep, soothing and riveting all at once. Dean lay absolutely still, for Castiel surely thought he was asleep. It felt like a privilege to be sung to, but not because he was a prince, but because it was what his mother used to do when he was little, and how it reminded him of her. 

This was not a good thing, for when he slept on dreams of his mother, they more often than not turned into nightmares. He slipped into one now, from a peaceful memory of her singing to a rather horrible one. 

He sat on a rocking chair, his mother holding him from behind him, rocking them both -for he was a little boy now-, and he was smiling. She was singing, but slowly her words began to drag and stutter, and little Dean turned around. Flames licked the back of the seat, hurting her, and Dean was pushed off the chair. He fell to the ground close to the chair, but found he could go no farther, and listened to his mother’s screams as she di- 

“Dean! Dean, wake up!” Someone shook his shoulder urgently, and he whisked into a sitting position, sobs still racking his body. Someone -and he dared not ask who- was hugging him tightly, and it calmed him to have somebody to hold onto. He grasped at whatever warmth he could touch, tears still running down his cheek, dripping off his jaw. 

“No no no, no..” He muttered, his voice cracking, and someone shhhed him quietly, reassuring, until he fell back asleep. This time Dean slept peacefully, dreaming this time of billowing fields with golden wheat whisking in the wind, feathery grasses sifting together to create a blending sea. He seemed to fly over the lands to eventually reach a badly woven blanket, most likely made by himself. A blank figure was sitting with him, and together they looked at the extravagant foods lain on the blanket. 

He woke up smiling, and immediately noticed the lack of warmth over his arms. His blankets were undone, and he realized his arms were lifted, reaching out for something unknown, maybe that blank figure on the blanket. He lay there, watching the sun be passed by clouds and the light fade and rebound. Eventually, he felt he should get up, but even the slightest of movements brought him agony. 

He heard footsteps coming down the hall, and lay there, almost paralyzed. The door to the prince’s chambers opened, and the physician entered. 

 

“Hello again, Dean.” He smiled, and Dean returned the favor. He had brought a poultice and some weird drink that he had to down. It didn’t taste bad, but rosemary wasn’t his choice of flavor. 

“Sir… may I ask your name? I feel undeserving of your care, and I don’t even know the first thing about you.” Dean asked. The physician smiled in understanding, and spoke his name. 

“Bathere.” He said kindly, and Dean nodded, speaking the word in his head. He knew somehow that he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, unless he was given some sort of transportation. In a flash, he remembered about his brother, and that it was an entire new day, and that he wouldn’t have anything to eat apart from the collected food. 

“My brother! My brother…” Dean muttered, but instead of getting up, he lay still, his chest feeling like lead. He felt calm and eerily relaxed, and realized the rosemary drink might have been more than to just heal him. He thought he was going to fall asleep, but instead he just felt numb. 

“Dean, I am going to splint your leg, but it might have caused some discomfort if I hadn’t numbed you.” Dean mumbled something incoherent even to him in reply, and let Bathere get his supplies. All of his senses were dulled, so he barely noticed when the prince stormed into his own chambers, yelling,  
“What are you doing?!” Frantically running over before he realized that it was only Bathere.  
“Oh, Bathere, you scared me. I thought you were here to harm him…” He trailed off. Bathere only chuckled and muttered something inaudible to himself. The prince hovered over Dean, constantly asking him if he needed anything. Dean would’ve said, “For you to shut up,” if he could but he was numb. He could only mildly appreciate the worried prince, for at least it meant he was not as heartless as he appeared. 

After a while, the sedative wore off and he was able to move somewhat normally again. It no longer hurt to move his leg, for it was splinted. It was unusually stiff, but that was to be expected when there was a wooden board tied to his leg. The prince was there constantly, and when Dean announced that he would be leaving for his home abruptly at dawn, he refused. 

“You can’t go in this state, and no doubting you will just cause yourself trouble again. Stay here, please! That’s an order?” He pleaded, and Dean sighed. He knew the prince now to be loyal, and even if he was a royal pain, he would hold to his word. 

“If I am to stay here, where should my brother go? How will he live? Promise me that if I obey you, he will be given food daily so that he can survive. Only then will I stay.” Dean bartered, and immediately the prince nodded in agreement. 

“Yes, yes, we can have that arranged, I’ll tell the cooks, GUARDS, make sure..” The prince stormed off, yelling orders as if he was born to. Then Dean realized he was. He smiled a bit to himself, and nearly got up out of bed to go get some water, but remembered his ailment. He sat there pensively until either Bathere or Castiel would enter. 

Surely enough, after apparently storming around yelling orders, the young prince returned. Thinking Dean was asleep, he pulled a chair from his table up to the bed and watched him.  
Dean let this go on for a while, but his throat ached for water.  
“Water?” He croaked hopefully. The prince startled, and nodded sheepishly. He quickly fetched water and returned, handing it to Dean and helping him to a sitting position. 

“Thanks.” He coughed, a deep, grueling cough that was bound to lead to some sort of infection. He nodded and sat back down, watching Dean sip the water. He put the glass of water onto the bedside table, smiling reassuringly at the prince before coughing again, his hand to his mouth.

“I heard you singing….” Dean began, still wheezing a little. The prince flushed a deep red, and looked down.  
“No, no, I liked it! You have a very nice voice!” Dean laughed, which hurt his chest, but he didn’t care. The prince, Castiel, smiled bashfully and looked up through hooded eyes. 

“Really? I’ve never sang to anyone.. it was a song my mother sang to me when I was little..” He muttered, but his eyes were still sparkling with pleasure at the compliment. 

“Yeah.”

______________________________

6 weeks later, Dean was miserable. He had recently left the prince’s care, and he found that he quite liked his cocky company to chat to. Sam was overjoyed to see him, and that was really the only thing that brought him happiness. Castiel, as Dean had come to know him, had offered Dean a surmountable amount of gold, but Dean had passed it down. Castiel had also ensured that he kept his job, for which he was very grateful. The job still sucked.

He was walking to his job, three days after leaving the castle chambers and saying goodbye to the bedridden form he had been in, when he heard a family friendly voice.  
“Dean!” Dean turned around, a bit slowly, a small hesitant smile on his face. There were no knights to be seen apart from Castiel, adorned in scarlet and silver. Castiel rushed up to him and pulled him into a tight hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him. 

“Hello, Castiel.” Dean laughed, patting him on the back. His boss, waiting by the door of the bakery (he had to shovel coals to the fire for a living), gawked at them. 

“Dean, I’ve really missed you.. I don’t suppose, maybe you’d want to…” He glanced nervously at Dean’s boss, then walked over to him, leaving Dean in his wake. 

“Uh, sir?” Castiel approached his boss. He immediately bowed. 

“Your Majesty.” 

“Uh, yes. Could I please use Dean as my servant? I believe he would make a good manservant.. Here, I can pay you! This should cover to pay another person!” Castiel said, and handed him a heavy bag full of gold coins. The boss gaped at it, and the nodded vigorously. 

“Yes, yes, he’s all yours…” He mumbled, rushing into his shop to count his fares. Castiel turned around, smiling at the bewildered Dean. 

“But… but….” Dean stuttered. Castiel clapped him on the back.  
“We begin tomorrow. Meet me in the woods, I’ll give you a stick.. You need to be a beater for our hunt.” Castiel said, walking off with what could only be described as a bounce in his step. 

Dean returned to his ‘home’, still out of breath after running to tell Sam the… good? news. He didn’t know yet. 

“Sam! Sam! I’m Prince Castiel’s new manservant, ain’t that something?!” Dean yelled, running into his smaller, weaker brother’s little arms. Sam squealed in joy, a grin spreading across his face. 

“You get to go see your friend?” He squealed. Dean nodded, and Sam hopped around the dying fire. 

“Careful there, buddy, you’re gonna fall right in!” He joked, deciding that this was a very good idea. He’d have to thank Castiel later. For now he needed to get some rest. He’d never officially done any hunting, but his father had brought him on some trips and taught him how to be a beater before… leaving. He brushed that thought from his mind. He lay down, gazing at his still-hyper little brother lovingly.

______________________________

“Dean, that way, you numbskull!” One of the knights yelled. Dean groaned and thundered through the brush, leaning down to occasionally hit at the bushes and twigs. Every now and then a startled rabbit would scatter from the unruly growth, earning itself an untimely death. Dean winced every time an arrow hit its target, and held the rabbit and arm’s length when carrying it to the cart.

After a few hours of this, the light was fading, and the trees became more ominous every minute the light lessened. The leafy branches became horrible, aching hands, reaching bony fingers out to brush your shoulder. Dean flinched at every scuttle, every animal call deep in the forest. He could only pray one of them wasn’t a wolf…. or something. 

The woods had gone horribly silent… not a bird sang, and no rabbits were to be found, let alone heard. He slowed his pace, not caring when he felt the horse’s breath on his back. From above them on a hill, a lonely warrior cry called out. Then another. Then another. Dean’s eyes widened in fear as a sea of men -bandits, he thought panickedly- raced down the hill. In moments, a battle was raging. Swords were unsheathed and battle cries from the Camelot knights broke the silence of the night. Sparks flew as silver met silver, and although the knights wore silver and the bandits wore leather, the fight was hard. 

Dean frantically searched for Castiel, finding him in the middle of a fight with a rather large bandit. Dean cowered, in the middle of a battlefield with nothing but a stick. He wore no colors of Camelot, but he was obviously not one of the outliers, for he had no muscle, and was much better washed than them. 

Dean felt something pierce him, sinking deep into stomach. He choked and fell to his knees. All around him bandits were falling. 

*** (Castiel’s Point Of View Now)

He had pulled his sword out of the lifeless body of the bandit, searching frantically for his manservant, or as he would simply call him, Dean. His eyes grazed the standing men, and, finding none, went to the fallen, a deep pit of dread in his stomach. When he saw Dean, the last bandit had just been killed. A cry of horror ripped from his throat, and he jumped off his horse, stumbling desperately to Dean most urgently. Upon collapsing next to the fallen boy, he wrapped his arm around him from behind, then pushed him away to get a look at the wound. He gently placed his hand on it and went back to holding Dean.

“You’ll be fine. It’s just a graze, you’ll be fine.” Castiel uttered, barely daring to speak in fears that it would make Dean’s lifeforce seep away faster. 

“Cas, Cas, promise me that when I’m gone you’ll look after Sa-” 

“No! I won’t, because you aren’t going to die, you’re fine! You have to be fine, you’re my only friend, you don’t care about my title…” Castiel growled, his heart aching. 

“Cas? It’s ok, I’m fine with dying, just make sure Sammy is alright.” He gasped, choking out blood in heaving coughs. Castiel felt a tear slip down his cheek, and Dean’s breaths began to slow. Castiel wouldn’t allow this to happen. He felt something for this boy, something he hadn’t felt with any other knights or even his father. 

“Dean, look at me.” Dean remained still, and Castiel yelled it again. Finally, Dean obliged, cringing in agony as he turned slightly. He had a faint smile on his lips, a stain on the sad moment. Why was he ok? Why wasn’t he afraid? Castiel looked him in the eyes, his hand still covering Dean’s fatal wound. He leaned forward, tears running down his cheeks and dripping off his nose. 

They closed in proximity, and their lips grazed. 

“ _ **Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ æ!**_ ” He whispered, and his gorgeous blue eyes flashed a crystalline gold before being closed as he pressed his lips against Dean’s. Dean weakly returned the favor, pushing his lips onto his, thinking this would be his first and last kiss. 

But Castiel’s hand glowed from underneath Dean, and after a few moments, it was as if there was never any would at all. 

“Cas..” Dean pulled away, his eyes widened with surprise. Castiel smiled, but it was really more of a smirk. 

“Don’t worry, Dean, to me, you’re the most magical thing here." 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos? xD <3


End file.
